


You Done Good

by Catchclaw



Series: Mental Mimosa [183]
Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Dirty Talking Steve Rogers, Jealousy, Kink Discovery, M/M, Mild Daddy Kink, Peter has a crush on Tony, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-14 03:57:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16485488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Catchclaw/pseuds/Catchclaw
Summary: Bucky is jealous. Steve has a creative solution.





	You Done Good

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: Rewatched _Winter Soldier_ last night for no reason at all.

There’s a sweetness in Peter that reminds Bucky of the past, of another skinny kid whose kindness hid a will made of iron. Oh, sure, Peter’s better built than Steve ever was at that age; better able to defend himself--along with the city and the planet, natch. But the kid’s more unsure of himself, too, awkward in a way that Steve never was, or that Bucky doesn’t remember him being. It’s not just his age; nobody’s Fred Astaire when they’re 17, nobody. No, it’s his need for approval, for reassurance; it’s the way he speaks up clear and sharp in meetings and then cuts his eyes straight over to Stark, looking for a nod or a smile that confirms that hey, what he said was really ok. He usually gets it. Sometimes, if they’re close, Stark’ll even clap him on the back or squeeze his shoulder, and oh, the way the kid lights up at that--well. Bucky wonders if Stark’s ever noticed.

Sometimes Peter looks at Steve like that, too, like a puppy in need of a pat, and even though it’s out in the open, nothing clandestine about it, it makes something in Bucky’s gut turn over when Steve bobs his head or gives the kid a quick _you done good_ smile. Peter stands up a little straighter when a look like that comes, when he gets to bask for a second in Captain America’s approval--two underdogs from the boroughs made good. It makes Bucky see green when that happens, when Peter gives Steve that shy little smile, it really fucking does, and Bucky’s damn sure he doesn’t want to know why.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asks one night after a huddle, one last look at the next morning’s strike.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing, huh? That’s why you’re slamming around like Banner on a bad day?”

Bucky tugs his shirt from his shoulders and hides his face inside it for a second, breathes. “M’fine,” he tells the cotton.

“Fine. Ok.” Two big hands on his chest, a set of nails over his ribs. “That’s why we’re having a conversation through a t-shirt. Because everything’s hunky-dory.”

He pops his head free and glares into those amused baby blues. “I’m _fine_.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve says, not giving an inch. “Clearly. You’re great.”

“Stevie. I have no qualms about knocking you back on your ass.”

Steve hums, tugs him closer, lays bare skin against skin. “I mean, hey. That’d be easier than talking, right?”

Buck opens his mouth to sass but Steve’s quicker and the jerk knows him too well; knows that a soft suck on the lowside of his throat might as well be his off switch, a breaker thrown to cut off his mad at the pass.

“Mmmm,” Steve says as Bucky’s head falls back, as his traitorous fingers wind themselves in Steve’s hair. “This is good though, too, don’t you think? If you’re dead set on not talking.”

“Fuck you,” Bucky sighs.

A chuckle, a quick scrape of teeth. “Well, if you think that would help.”

And it does, truly, until Steve comes to a freaking five-alarm halt inside him and peers down into Bucky’s red face. “So,” Steve says, “you gonna tell me now?”

“What?”

“You heard me.” Steve nuzzles his cheek. “Don’t play dumb on me, Barnes.”

“I can’t--I’m not really”--Bucky groans and tries to lift his hips, gets slammed down to the sheets in response--“god, Steve, I can’t fucking talk.”

“Sure you can.” His voice goes caramel sticky. “How does my cock feel inside you, huh?”

“Oh, fuck. It feels good. It feels so fucking good.”

That gets him a kiss. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, and it’d feel even better if you moved.”

“Oh,” Steve says, like that’s the answer to a crossword. “You mean you want me to fuck you?”

“Jesus christ. _Yes._ ”

Steve gives him a short, hungry thrust, one that has Bucky gasping. “Fantastic. Tell me why you’ve been acting like a dick all evening and you, my dear, can have mine.”

Bucky isn’t sure whether to scream or laugh. He sort of does both. “You asshole. You’re a complete and utter shit, Steve. You know that?”

“Well aware. Now talk.”

“This is blackmail.”

Steve laughs, nudges the sound into Bucky’s ear. “Oh, it’s something, all right. Be a lot more fun if you just fessed up already.”

Bucky’s body tightens and he shudders, gets swallowed by a big, hungry noise, one that makes Steve laugh harder, his body feel more like stubborn steel.

“Come on,” Steve says. “It can’t be that bad.”

Fuck it. “It’s Peter.”

If Steve’s surprised, he doesn’t show it. “Yeah? What about him?”

“I don’t--I don’t like the way that he looks at you sometimes.”

“The way he looks at me?”

“Uh huh.”

“And how does he look at me, Buck?”

Bucky’s fingers slip down to Steve’s neck, meet in a tangle on the top of his back. “Like he wants your approval. Wants you to tell him how smart he is, how fucking clever. How good.”

Steve smiles, rubs it against Bucky’s mouth. “Nah, that’s how he looks at Tony. Kid’s got a crush a mile wide.”

“No, yeah. But you, too. He looks at you the same way.”

“No, he doesn’t.”

“Yeah he does. You just can’t see it. He’s looking right at you and you just--you don’t know.”

There’s a low sound in Steve’s throat. “Uh huh. And you don’t like it. Him looking at me like that.”

“No, I don’t. It’s not his….whatever, he shouldn’t--”

“Shouldn’t what, huh?” Another kiss, deeper this time, long and lingering wet. “He shouldn’t look at me, ever? That’s a little much, don’t you think?”

Bucky groans, chases Steve’s mouth when it pulls away, spits: “He shouldn’t need your approval so bad. That’s what I fucking mean.”

“Oh,” Steve says, sharp, a corresponding kick of his hips. “Is that so?”

“Yeah, yeah, I mean--”

“He’s just a kid, Buck. Barely 17. You remember what idiots we were at that age?”

“No, yes, I do, but--”

“You imagine being that young and having power like that?”

Bucky arches his back, claws with metal and flesh at Steve’s spine. “Hell no.”

“Power that he’s using for good, too. He’s trying to help people, isn’t he?”

“Yeah.”

Steve bites at his jaw, gentle. “And so he needs some reassurance. So what? He’s still learning his way. And he’s lucky, you know, that he’s got so many role models. So many people who care about him and want him to do right.”

“I know, I know. Jesus fuck, will you just--!”

Steve’s voice drops to a murmur. “Will I just what? Do the same thing for you?”

“What?”

“Tell you how good you are. How smart.” He licks at Bucky’s mouth. “Tell you that you’re doing the right thing.”

Bucky’s head is doing cartwheels, his thoughts a swirl of colored paper. “No,” he says, “no, I don’t need you to--”

Steve lifts his hips away, shoves them right back. “You’re so good, Bucky,” he rasps. “You’re so goddamn smart. So fucking strong.”

“No,” Bucky says again, but it’s fainter now, drowned out by the throb in his cock, the sweet stretch of Steve’s inside him. “Steve. Stop.”

Another shove, the first hint of a rhythm. “Mmm. I don’t tell you that enough, do I? How good you are. How much we need you. How happy I am that you’re here.”

Bucky moans, a sound drown up from the well of his gut, and they’re fucking now, moving together in earnest, Steve still talking breathless and sweet.

“That’s it, huh? That’s what you wanted. To be told what a good boy you are.”

“Oh _shit_.”

Steve hums again, triumphant. “It is, isn’t it? You just needed to hear it.”

“Steve--”

Their hips slam together and Bucky scrambles for his dick, shoves a hand between them and squeezes himself at the root.

“Oh, yes,” Steve purrs. “That’s right. Good boy. You gonna come on my cock?”

“Yes.” Bucky can’t think or breathe or reason; all he can fucking do is feel: Steve swelling inside him, Steve biting his lip, Steve’s body firm on top of his, not letting him get away. “Yes, baby, yes.”

“You want me to say it in front of everybody next time, huh?” Steve’s voice is flame, burning embers lapping at the foundation. “The next time you say something smart while we’re all together. You want me to say it then?”

“I don’t--?”

“I’ll do it. You won’t even have to look at me. Won’t even have to ask.”

“Please,” Bucky hears himself say. “God, please, Stevie. Fuck.”

"Yeah,” Steve says. “You’re so good, aren’t you, Buck? You’re such a good boy.”

A tremor, a pump, and Bucky’s coming all over his hand, sealing the space between them with his spunk, sticky and thick, and Steve howls, a wild, needy sound, and grabs at Bucky’s wrists, yanks them up and over his head, pins them both of the pillows like butterflies on a line.

“That’s it,” he says, slamming in hard and fast. “That’s it, baby. Oh, look at you. Look. Only good boys get fucked like this. Only good boys get to have their daddy’s cock.”

Bucky’s whole body crackles and he pulls against Steve’s hold, stays in the game enough not to break it. “Please,” he pants. “Let me have it, daddy. Please.”

It’s stupid and dirty and Steve comes with a shout, a rough grind of his hips and a desperate kiss and all at once Bucky is full, his heart his mind his body filled to the last cell with Steve.

“For the record,” Steve says once they’ve parted, once they’re mostly clean and tucked under the sheets, “I don’t want to do that with Peter.”

Bucky snorts so hard he almost chokes. “Well, ok. Thanks. I didn’t think that you did.”

Steve blushes so hard Buck can practically hear it, there in the cool and the dark. “Ok. Good. Just want to make sure we’re clear.”

Bucky turns over and leans their mouths together, kisses Steve until the red goes away. “But I did like it, what you called me.”

“Did you?” Steve’s lips curve. “Yeah, I kinda got that.”

“Would you call me that again sometime, you think? Preferably not in mixed company.”

“Hmmm. Well, I guess that depends.”

“Oh, really? On what, pray tell?”

A smirk, a stroke of a self-satisfied tongue, a chuckle that hasn’t changed in 70 years. “On whether or not you’ve earned it, of course.”

**Author's Note:**

> I sat down determined not to write sex today. DAMN IT.


End file.
